Collision
by kates1304
Summary: Sandra's new job brings her back to London. She thinks that she is helping him but who is helping who?


**I've not really written New Tricks Fic before but this wouldn't go away so thought I'd give it a go :) Feedback appreciated.**

It started with a file. A4, slightly shabby, salmon pink in colour. Innocuous looking to the casual observer, but a year with Interpol in the War Crimes Unit had taught her that nothing here was inoccuous. Inside every unassuming battered cardboard folder lay details of crimes that she didn't even want to think about, of victims that she was too late to save and perpetrators of the most dreadful atrocities. Men – and, rarely, women – who she wished had never been born for if they had never been born they could never have inflicted such horror on innocent people. The fact that the folder was the sickly shade of orangy pink meant that what lay inside it was details of an incident during the first Gulf War which was unusual in itself. She, typically, worked on the most historical cases in their remit – mopping up the last of the Nazis and the odd horror from early in the Cold War. The most recent file that she'd been handed before this had been 1968, investigating atrocities committed around the time of the Prague Spring. 1990 was a massive leap into the more modern. For a start, some – perhaps even most – of the men involved would still be alive, which wasn't the case in most of her cases. Increasingly her job was becoming a matter of besmirching the memory of dead men who'd done terrible things, something which always left a bitter taste in her mouth. After all, it was the families that suffered and they hadn't done anything to deserve it.

'This one is for you' Max told her slowly, sliding the folder towards her. Another weird thing about this situation was that he'd brought it home. Usually they kept their work very much in the office because if they allowed the horror of their jobs into their home they would never truly be able to rest.

'I'm still working on Privalov' she replied slowly, not taking the bait and opening the folder. 'It comes to trial in a couple of months and there's still a lot to do. I'm not letting that bastard walk away now'

'I'm not saying that you have to' Max replied in that infuriatingly calm way that he had of confronting her hissy fits. He said that after two decades of dealing with the worst that men could do he had learned to control his temper, but sometimes she really wished that he would lose it. He said that if he was going to lose his temper with anybody it would be with a war criminal who claimed that he'd annihilated a village because of instructions, madness or God, not with his occasionally slightly highly strung girlfriend. 'There are plenty of other people who can manage that now. You've done the hard part; you've tracked him down. This needs your attention now'

'What is it?' she fingered the edge of the file but still didn't bite.

'See for yourself'

'This isn't the way we do things' she pointed out, unnerved. Generally she was briefed in the office, not her kitchen, and generally she was given a verbal run down of the case, not simply handed a file and told to read. There was something about this that made her feel very uneasy indeed.

'I know' a shrug 'Read it; you'll see why it has to be you. Then I'll tell you everything'

'Fine' she huffed, opened the file and froze as she looked at the first page and saw a name that she recognised.

ooooo

Which was how she came to be in England, nursing a small vat of dry white wine and waiting for her drinking companion to join him. She didn't like doing this, in fact she hated it, but Max was right; he was a friend, and it was better to do this in person than to send a stranger to destroy his world. With a little luck he would know nothing about any of this and she could slink back to Belgium with a shrug. More than anything she wanted this to go away, for his sake.

'Sandra!' he greeted her with a beam, his eyes open wide as he kissed both of her cheeks and pulled up a chair. 'Lovely to see you. I must say this is a surprise; I thought that you were in Belgium'

'I was' she replied slowly, feeling bad that she was going to have to burst his bubble of bonhomie with her reason for being here. Outside of UCOS he was a completely different man and even though their professional relationship had often been fraught, now she considered him a friend and she really liked him. It made what she was here to do even harder.

'Are the boys joining us? I know they'll be dying to see you'

'Still causing trouble?' she couldn't resist a smile. She loved the job that she did now, but she would always have a special place in her heart for those dinosaurs and their antiquated ways. They would always be her boys and she missed them more than she was willing to admit.

'Of course' he gave a wry little smile 'The day they stop causing trouble is the day that I'll have to put them back out to pasture. Of course things are less...' he groped for the word. '… exciting without Brian'

'I'm sure Gerry keeps you all on your toes, Sir' she replied, taking a large mouthful of wine and steeling herself to spoil their congenial meeting.

'Sandra, you really don't need to call me Sir' he told her, sniffing the Scotch that she'd ordered him approvingly. It was Laphroaig. His favourite. A small gesture to soften the blow. 'We're not at work' he added, peering at her, his brow furrowing slightly as he saw the expression on her face. 'I'm not at work. I'm suddenly getting the impression that you are. The boys aren't coming, are they?'

'No' she admitted slowly. 'They're not. Robert, I'm sorry to have to do this but we thought that it was better coming from me'

'What is?' now he looked confused, as well he might. He was a good man, one of the most honourable she'd known. He was certainly not a war criminal, at least not that she'd seen any evidence of, but she'd learned that war criminals didn't generally go around advertising the fact. Outside the theatre of war they could be the most charming men, but give them a uniform and a gun and they could become monsters. 'Sandra...'

'Sir, I'm sorry...' she reached out, squeezed his hand and wished that Max had come to do his own dirty work. He hadn't because he was too busy with a case that was being heard in the Hague, and in any case she was far closer to Strickland than he was. '...Robert...' she corrected herself, the word feeling as wrong on her lips as it felt to her ears when Gerry called her Sandra rather than Guvnor.

'What is it, Sandra' he gave a nervous little laugh. 'You can't possibly be investigating me: I never got close enough to a war to commit any kind of war crime'

'I know that' she nodded 'The thing is Robert, we're looking for your brother'


End file.
